My youngest son is a dedicated Mets fan. That started in 2000, when he was in the first grade. The Yankees played the Mets in the World Series, and in the magical way that children have, he bonded with the underdog. He would stay up as late as he could to watch each game, falling asleep - face down on the floor - by the third or fourth inning. There was no reason for his loyalty; it was as if the choice was made for him.

Yet he became such a fierce, knowledgeable and devoted true believer that within a few years, he had dragged me in: I wanted to see them to win it all, simply for his sake.

In buying in, I became privy to the annual truth known well to all Mets fans: We have not even begun to discover all the different, unique and savage ways to lose a game. The Mets got beat 4-2 Sunday, in the finale at Shea Stadium, marking the second straight year a fine team - a team that three years ago was arguably one at-bat away from winning the while show - blew a big September lead to go home early.

My son has now learned the bitter humor of rooting for this team - the Mets can be winning 8-0, and he'll text me a warning that it's still a bit too close. I often think with pride of a moment years ago, after another rough ending to another rough Mets season, when he walked quietly along the driveway and said: "Dad, all my friends are Yankees fans. Sometimes I'm afraid I made the wrong choice."

He kept the faith. The bond between child and team is mystical, often unbreakable. I told him the only payback is in the wait itself, that when the glorious day finally arrives for him when the Mets again win it all, the feeling will be far better than it is for those whose teams all the time.